


The Joy of Losing

by Copgirl1964



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Secret Saito Gift Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copgirl1964/pseuds/Copgirl1964
Summary: Coming up with what to do for Christmas and agreeing on it is not always easy.





	1. 10th December

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swtalmnd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/gifts).



> This is a Secret Saito gift for amysnotdeadyet on Tumblr. The prompt was "coziness". It turned out a bit longer than it was supposed to be. I hope you enjoy it. Oh, and happy holidays!

**10th December**

“What do you want to do for Christmas?” 

The dart Eames had been about to throw when the question was asked, missed the bull’s eye by a mile. 

“I don’t know. Haven’t thought about it,” Eames said, walking into the kitchen to pull the dart from the wooden door of the kitchen cabinet. He looked at Arthur who was leaning casually against the door frame, eating an apple. Dressed in his work clothes, a light grey suit, a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up and waistcoat, he looked a gentlemen’s tailor’s wet dream come true. 

“What about you? Any Christmas traditions you might want me to know about?” Eames asked. Instead of looking at Arthur, he used his thumb to rub over the tiny hole in the wood the dart had left, as if his touch could make it disappear.

Arthur shrugged and finished chewing the bite of apple before he replied. “My mother is Jewish and my father hated Christmas so much that we spent the Christmas each year in some country or at least city that didn’t celebrate it. Hence, I thought I’d leave the decision to you. Although I do have an idea or two.”

That night Eames found himself unable to sleep for his thoughts kept whirling around their short conversation about Christmas. As a child and as a youth he had loved Christmas but that was a long time ago. 

The best Christmas since he had left home and joined the army for a few years had been during the war in Iraq where they had had an actual Christmas tree in their camp, flown in just the day before. He remembered the punch induced carols they had sung boisterously but the following morning, even before the sun was up, they had grabbed their assault riffles and climbed back into the tanks.

The year after they had performed Inception he had found himself hiding in a shabby flat in Istanbul. While being shot at he had successfully escaped but had twisted his ankle so badly he thought he had torn at least one ligament. From Christmas Eve to Boxing Day, while he had had to hide and heal, he had lived on tap-water that had given him the squits. When he had finally re-emerged he had lost a stone in weight and New Year’s Eve had seen him slimmer then he had been in years.

The following Christmas he had spent hooked up to a Pasiv, convincing some Irish politician to part with a standard poodle named Charles. The politician’s wife had filed for divorce, and feared for the dog’s life. As far as Eames knew the poodle was now living an incredibly pampered life in St. Peter Port on the island of Guernsey.

A lonely Christmas spent drunk in Mombasa followed the poodle’s extraction and then there had been the most horrible Christmas in Eames’ entire life. Rolling over in bed he studied the Arthur-shaped lump next to him before reaching over and wrapping his arms around the sleeping man.

The scar at the side of Arthur’s head was hidden under the mop of dark hair. The head-wound Arthur had suffered from that day hadn’t been that bad but Eames remember vividly the horror he had felt when he had received the news Arthur had been shot. The shot in the head, as Dom had described it over the phone, had turned out to be a badly bleeding graze from a 9 mm parabellum courtesy of an unsatisfied customer but Eames could recall every frightful minute he had suffered from receiving the news until the moment Arthur had opened his eyes and looked at him with utter befuddlement. 

The day Arthur had been released from hospital Eames had asked him on a date and they had been together ever since. 

After all his contemplations Eames still was uncertain about what he wanted to do for Christmas but with his nose buried in Arthur’s hair he finally fell asleep.


	2. 17th December

**17th December**

Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea Eames ever had had but the longer he thought about it the more he liked it. 

“I want to spend Christmas day in bed with you,” Eames declared when they were just finishing breakfast that morning. He was putting butter and cheese into the fridge and Arthur had just given the kitchen table a quick wipe. 

One of Arthur’s inquisitive eyebrows headed for his hairline and he blinked a couple of times. “Let me think about it, okay?” was all Arthur said before he poured the rest of the coffee into his cup and disappeared into the room he used for his office.

Eames sighed. Spending a whole day in bed with Arthur was pretty much near the top on his list of the most enjoyable things in life.


	3. 20th December

**20nd December**

“Your mother called,” Arthur told Eames when the forger returned from the gym where he had spent the whole morning. Nodding that he had heard, Eames dragged himself into the kitchen to raid the fridge. Once he had wolfed down an enormous plate of grilled chicken and steamed broccoli, he knew he had to watch his diet carefully during Christmas season, he walked over to Arthur who was sitting in his favourite armchair reading the New York times on a tablet computer.

Eames kissed Arthur’s hair before he flopped down on the sofa 

“What did she want?” Eames asked, closing his eyes. 

“She didn’t say but I presume she wanted to know what her favourite son wants for Christmas,” Arthur replied without looking up. He reached over though and ruffled his partner’s hair affectionately. 

After few minutes of silence that had Eames almost fall asleep on the sofa, Arthur put his tablet computer away. “I thought about your proposition for Christmas and decided I want to do something different.”

Eames opened one eye. “What could possibly better than spending Christmas in bed with me?” 

“That, my love, is going to be a surprise.”

Eames produced a strangled sound. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that word,” he mumbled. 

As of late Arthur had expressed an interest in modern art and Eames still shuddered when he remembered pictures he had seen, convinced that his optic nerve had suffered enough damage to last him at least a decade. He hoped that Arthur didn’t plan on visiting an exhibition at The Tate Modern on Christmas Day. 

“All right, how about this,” Arthur said. “If I manage to make you laugh really hard before tomorrow at midnight I decide what we’re going to do. No laughter from you and we spend the day in bed.”

Eames should have suspected foul play but once he had managed to negotiate that it had to be a laughing fit that involved at least a couple of tears and films or anything else they’d be watching on TV didn’t count, he felt reasonably safe. In Eames’ opinion Arthur couldn’t joke himself out of a bag.

Later that evening, once Eames had woken up from his post-gym nap they ate dinner and watched a few episodes of The Big Bang Theory. It was late when they switched off the TV but neither man was ready to go to bed. Curled up together under a woollen blanket they stayed on the sofa, talked softly and exchanged kisses that might have led to a more robust display of affection but all of a sudden Arthur slipped from Eames’ embrace and stood up. 

“Wait here. There’s something I want to show you,” Arthur rumbled and disappeared into their bedroom. When he returned only a couple of minute later, Eames had his feet propped up on the table and was watching him curiously and with clear anticipation. Arthur winked and, without missing a beat, went to their stereo to hook up his phone. That done, he pulled off his socks and quickly walked into the middle of the room. 

Music began to play, ‘Pony’ by Genuwine, and looking directly at Eames, Arthur began to dance. It wasn’t really dancing. No, rather than dancing Arthur was swaying sensually to the rhythm of the beats while running his hands over his own body. He stretched like a cat, rolled his shoulders and hips and started unbuttoning his shirt, all the while looking fixedly at Eames.

Eames couldn’t believe his eyes when Arthur threw his shirt away and sidled closer to him. The sight of him, now dressed only in a pair of dark trousers he had changed into, made Eames’ mouth go dry.

Turning around, Arthur offered Eames a good view of his behind and with a rip of Velcro, he tore away his trousers. Underneath Arthur wore a thong, which now provided Eames with an unobstructed view of Arthur’s very firm arse. 

So far the unexpected striptease had hardly lasted more than a minute. A bit rushed as far as Eames was concerned but nothing he’d complain about. Eames sat up, planning to reach out for the highly desirable bum wiggling right in front of him, when something seemed to go wrong with the music. First it sounded as if another track began to overlay the actual song, then two things happened at exactly the same moment. Pony was replaced by a choir singing Jingle Bells and Arthur turned around for Eames to have an unobstructed view of his front. 

Eames’ eyes almost popped out of his head when he caught sight of the most hideous thong he had ever seen. An array of Christmas bells was printed on the fabric that engulfed Arthur’s assets. Considering Eames’ often more than questionable taste in shirts the fact that he almost fell from the sofa laughing had to count for something. It was only after he had wiped away the tears that had been streaming down his cheeks that he noticed Arthur’s expression. Collapsing in hysterics upon your loved one’s striptease should result at least in an annoyed pout. Instead Arthur, who had stopped all movement, was looking so smug he had popped his dimples. Eames, who had intended to apologise, suddenly understood. 

“Oh,” he said and closed his mouth with a click.

If anything, Arthur’s smug expression deepened and Eames pointed an accusing finger at him. “That was the most perfidious plot,” he growled and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Ignoring Eames’ stare, Arthur picked up the clothes from the floor and sashayed towards their bedroom. Looking over his shoulder he winked at Eames who had enough sense to follow him.


	4. 24th December

**24th December**

When Eames emerged from the bedroom that morning he was surprised to find a Christmas tree in the corner of their living-room. Aside from the fairy-lights it was only decorated with red and golden baubles and stars, just like the tree he remembered from his childhood. Underneath the tree a single box, wrapped in blue and silver paper was visible. 

Noises coming from the kitchen revealed that Arthur was making breakfast so Eames hurried into their bedroom and recovered the present for Arthur that he had been hiding under the bed. The box joined the other one under the tree. 

The morning was spent with some last minute shopping and in the afternoon they had tea and mince pies while watching Die Hard on television.

As soon as the film was over Arthur switched off the TV. “I’m not sure it’s traditional but would you be opposed to opening one Christmas present now?” 

Eames peered at the two gift wrapped boxes under their Christmas tree. “There’d be nothing for tomorrow if we opened them tonight.”

“I might have something you’d enjoy and you can still keep that present for tomorrow,” Arthur replied. 

“Oh?” Eames’ eyes ran appreciatively over his partner’s body but Arthur dismissed his obvious interest with a laugh. 

“Later,” Arthur promised and handed Eames a cream-coloured envelope.

Carefully Eames peeled open the envelope’s flap and was baffled into silence when inside the envelope he discovered two tickets for the ballet. Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker. The tickets were for Christmas Eve and they would sit in a private box.

Eames stared at Arthur. Of course he had spotted the posters but not in his wildest dreams would he have thought they would actually go and watch it. Eames’ younger sister Emma had loved the ballet and trained hard so the whole family used to go and see whichever ballet was on at Christmas Eve. That Arthur would buy them tickets was astonishing in itself because as far as Eames knew Arthur wasn’t particularly fond of classical music. 

“Were those tickets the right decision?” Arthur asked, when Eames didn’t say anything.

Eames blinked as if he was slowly waking up from a dream. “Oh my god, yes!” he burst out eventually. He grabbed Arthur by his arms and pulled him in for a rough kiss. “That’s...” he was at a loss for words. 

“Okay?” Arthur asked carefully.”

“No, darling.” Eames beamed. “Not okay. Perfect!” He kissed Arthur again. “I have no idea how you even managed to get tickets but this is wonderful.”

“I think,” he said, “we have just enough time to change into something more suitable before we have to leave.”

Checking the time on the tickets, Eames drew in his breath sharply and pulled Arthur towards their bedroom. “Indeed. Not a moment to lose.”

They changed into their suits and warm coats quickly. Arthur was giving his bow-tie a finishing touch when moments later the doorbell rung. Their cab had arrived.

For several minutes they rode in silence, holding hands and watching the ever busy streets of London flying by. 

Eventually Eames tugged at Arthur’s hand to get his attention. “Darling, I want to apologise for being such a dick the other day about visiting The Tate Modern or any other art exhibition. I’d like to make it up to you.” 

“I don’t recall you commenting that,” Arthur replied, frowning.

“Perhaps I didn’t but I know you understood what I meant when I didn’t react exactly excitedly about you indicating that you had a surprise in mind for today.” Eames pulled an envelope from the pocket of is coat and handed it to Arthur. “I’m really very sorry, love.”

Inside the envelope Arthur discovered a membership plus card for the Design Museum in London for himself and a regular membership card that had Eames’ name embossed.

Arthur felt as if he was melting. Of course, he knew that Eames hated modern art. The card with Eames’ name on it was the declaration that he was willing to accompany Arthur nonetheless. 

A quick look through the window revealed that the ride in the cab would last at least another ten minutes, so Arthur pulled Eames in for a seriously filthy kiss. Eames gasped when his mouth was plundered but decided that he didn’t care should he arrive a bit dishevelled.

As it turned out they were late enough that nobody paid the slightest attention to his appearance. They were rushed into the private box and made it to their seats just in time to join the applause when the overture began. 

The following hour convinced Arthur that the decision to buy the tickets for a horrendous price had been the right one. His lips slightly parted, Eames seemed to be lost in reverie the entire time. The man gazed enraptured at the stage, his eyes moist, and only when the lights came up for the intermission did he notice that he had clasped Arthur’s hand in his and the champagne in the cooler so far had remained untouched.

Arthur filled their glasses and they clinked them before drinking.

“I can see that you’re having a good time,” Arthur teased fondly, upon which Eames nodded enthusiastically. 

“When Emma and I were children we went to see a ballet every single Christmas Eve. Just as we did today we had tea and mince pies before we got dressed in our Sunday clothes. Dad wore his best suit and our mum her best dress. It was always a ballet with music by Tchaikovsky that we went to see.”

“I only know the music by Tchaikovsky that was in Disney’s Fantasia 1940,” Arthur confessed, his ears turning red in embarrassment. Upon Eames’ somewhat exasperated look Arthur ticked off the tracks he remembered on his fingers. “The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, the Russian Dance and the Chinese Dance. I’m sure there were others by Tchaikovsky but I don’t recall the titles.”  
Fortunately the ringing tone, that announced the end of the intermission, saved him from further mortification. The lights went down but before it went completely dark again he caught Eames’ fond gaze, that was directed at him.


	5. 25th December

**25th December**

It was almost 10:30 before Eames woke up on Christmas Day. Rolling over, he was disappointed to find Arthur’s side of the bed empty. With a sigh he got up, had a quick shower, brushed his teeth and shaved carefully before getting dressed. For the occasion he had bought a Christmas jumper that actually wasn’t too bad, although Arthur had rolled his eyes when he had seen it.

To his utmost surprise Eames found the kitchen door locked. He knocked on the door. “Arthur darling, what are you doing? Let me in, please. I want tea.” 

“Tea’s in the living-room,” came the muffled reply. “And something for breakfast.” 

“Is everything all right?” Eames asked through the door.

“Yes,” Arthur shouted. “Drink your tea, I’m going to join you in a minute.”

The minute turned into half an hour but finally Arthur emerged from the kitchen. Before Eames could even get a peak inside the door was closed again but a deliciously smelling whiff had escaped, alerting Eames to what was possibly happening in the kitchen.

Eames was tempted to ask Arthur whether he was cooking turkey but seeing the effort the man went through to surprise him, he kept his mouth shut. 

“Happy Christmas,” he said instead, enfolding Arthur in his arms and kissing him thoroughly. 

“Merry Christmas, Eames,” Arthur replied, his voice rough with desire. “Do you want to know what I planned for today?”

“Back to bed?” Eames asked with a wink.

“You’re an idiot!” Arthur’s voice was fond. “And I love you.” 

That declaration earned him another kiss. 

“Lunch should be ready in an hour. Afterwards we could go for a walk to look at the Christmas decorations and at three we’re going to listen to the Queen’s speech.”

“Darling...” Eames’ eyes shone like they belonged to a five-year old boy instead of to a grown man.

“Shhh, let me finish.” Arthur pressed a finger to Eames’ lips. After the speech we exchange our presents and then go to St. John’s Church down the road for the service. We should be back by six and…“ Arthur wanted to suggest that they could spend the remainder of Christmas Day in bed, if that was what Eames wished but he didn’t get that far. Instead he found himself pushed onto the sofa and so thoroughly kissed that he almost forgot about the turkey, presents and anything else really. 

The roast turkey didn’t burn and neither did the Christmas pudding, but it was a close call. 

Later Eames unwrapped a beautiful book with the title “Drawing with Needles” as well as a bottle of some ridiculously expensive Bourbon, while Arthur found himself confronted with a package he was certain contained bricks.  
“This present should enable you to leave me even more in awe with your specificity,” Eames explained with a grin. It turned out to be all six volumes of “The Cambridge History of the English Language”. 

In the afternoon, on their way home from church, it began to snow and while trying to catch snowflakes with their tongues both men decided that this Christmas Day was the best they had ever had.

Eames never learned that it had been his own mother who had told Arthur less than a week prior everything she knew her son desired for Christmas. She had got it almost right. Almost, because as thoroughly as Eames enjoyed the food and the whole traditional proceedings, it would have been nothing without his Arthur. Arthur, the man Eames loved with all his heart and whom he held tightly in his arms when they fell asleep that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @jack63kids for beta-ing once again - even though you are terribly busy and this isn't even "your fandom".


End file.
